


Maridichallenge - Tumblr/LJ Fills

by Akira14



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Hannibal (TV), Once Upon a Time (TV), Suits (TV), Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV), The Originals (TV), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Mildly Dubious Consent, Rape/Non-con Elements, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:20:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 13,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1537310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akira14/pseuds/Akira14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Posting here the other stories I have written and that I might write in the future for Maridichallenge writing iniziatives.<br/>Or stories that have been asked to me through my Tumblr.</p><p>Chapter 1: Klebekah / Relijah short fic<br/>Capitolo 2: Crossover SPN/MCU<br/>Chapter 3: OQ in the Enchanted Forest<br/>Chapter 4: OQ (see chapter summary for prompt)<br/>Chapter 5: OQ (see chapter summary for prompt)<br/>Capitolo 6: Garrett/underage!Ward (UNDERAGE SEX, MILDLY DUBIOUS CONSENT)<br/>Capitolo 7:  Garrett/Ward | NON-CON (Violence)<br/>Chapter 8: Dean/Castiel; Prompt: BSDM<br/>Chapter 9: Klaus/Elijah; Prompt: BSDM<br/>Chapter 10: Hannibal/Will | DUB-CON<br/>Capitolo 11: Harvey/Mike (see chapter summary for prompt)<br/>Chapter 12:  Harvey/Mike; kiss cam<br/>Chapter 13: Simmons/Fitz; Prompt: Anything POST SEASON FINALE<br/>Chapter 14: Sterek (see chapter summary for prompt)<br/>Chapter 15: Multifandom flashfic<br/>Capitolo 16: Captain Swan, post 3x22<br/>Chapter 17: A birthday party for a certain someone (The Originals)<br/>Chapter 18: Damon's birthday after 5x22 (Stefan POV)<br/>Chapter 19: Stiles turns 18<br/>Chapter 20: Hooker!AU (SUITS, Marvey)<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to leave me prompts (see my fandoms through my works): http://revengeisalwaysanoption.tumblr.com

Every now and then, Rebekah realizes she is not so different from Klaus and Elijah.   
She does like to believe that she is a better person than Nik, at least - just about anyone is, really - but that's a lie.  
Plenty of innocent lives have been taken to quench her bloodlust. Countless necks have broken and many hearts have been ripped out of lovesick fools so that she could get whatever she wanted.   
Not to mention all those who died - or have been punished in such a callous way that they most certainly wish they were dead - due to her quest for normalcy, for true love.

If only Rebekah felt regret for the price that had to be paid so that she could have a fleeting moment of freedom, then she might have a chance for redemption.  
She  _really_  doesn't feel guilty about any of that, though. She is not even ashamed of showing how much she loves being caught by those two control-freaks and reminded who she belongs to.

Now, of course, if you were to ask the lady who could claim ownership over her... Well, she would tell you that Rebekah Mikaelson belongs to no one but herself. That's another lie.  
She belongs to her brothers just like they belong to her.

As soon as the tears for yet another lost lover have been wiped from her eyes, she will enjoy the perks of having two men who cannot bear the thought of letting her out of their sight. Who devote days, and nights too, worshipping each and every inch of her body, eating her out until she actually passes out.

One day it won't be enough. One day she will run as far as she can from this, and never look back. One day.  
Not today.   
Today she finds comfort in Nik's feathery kisses on her bare shoulders. In Elijah's soft breath against her chest, and his nimble fingers cupping her breast.  
Today all that matters is the love and affection they feel for each other. Refusing to acknowledge that it runs so deep that it makes them murderous, more often than not.

Freedom is not worth sacrificing  _this_.  
Not yet.


	2. Chapter 2

"Ragazze..." L'uomo si rivolge, con un affabile sorriso, allo stuolo di seducenti e discinte donne che lo circondano. "Un applauso al nuovo collaboratore della 'Gabbati da Gabriel SRN' (società a responsabilità nulla): Loki Laufeyson!"

"Potremmo evitare, per favore?" Taglia corto l'interpellato. "Non intendo avere niente a che fare con un ciarlatano che si è fatto passare per me, davanti a divinità e midgardiani, per chissà quanti millenni."

Gabriel si volta, a cercare il colpevole di tale affronto, per poi tornare a fissare Loki puntandosi un dito contro.

"Ah, parlavi del sottoscritto? Be', sai com'è: figlio di un Divino Padre che ha preferito quel tuo fratello tanto innamorato dell'umanità... Nonché appassionato di scherzi vari ed illusioni indistinguibili dalla realtà... I requisiti minimi direi che li ho sempre avuti. Non puoi certo dire che io ti abbia fatto sfigurare, o no? Certo, se vuoi fare la primadonna e farne una questione di principio, be', questo è tutto un altro discorso."

Onestamente, è soltanto una questione di principio, perché Gabriel ha portato onore e gloria - nonché una serie di simpatici aneddoti e pettegolezzi - a Suo nome. Non volendo dargli la soddisfazione di aver colto nel segno, scrolla le spalle e finge di lasciar perdere. Ci sarà un momento più propizio per fargli pentire di averlo impersonato senza nemmeno chiedere il permesso.  
Per adesso, invece, è meglio fare buon viso a cattivo gioco.

Ride, Loki.  
"Figurati. Mi avrai mica preso sul serio!" Con un rapido cenno della mano fa sparire sia le ragazze sia i dolci ipercalorici che troneggiavano sul tavolo. "Ti confesso che, in realtà, ammiro il tuo lavoro. Nonché il tuo stile. Attendo impaziente di vedere quali risultati porterà la nostra collaborazione. Perciò bando alle chiacchiere, ed ai festeggiamenti e mettiamoci all'opera."  
"Ma, ma..." Gabriel osserva il tavolo, ora vuoto, rimpiangendo i quattro piani delle sue torte al pan di spagna ricoperto di cioccolato e panna. "Non erano di tuo gradimento? Forse le preferiresti bionde?"   
Con uno schiocco delle dita fa apparire una nuova ragazza, dai capelli biondo oro. No, nessuna reazione. "Più mature? Più muscolose?"  
La donna ha ora un fisico che non sfigurerebbe vicino a quello delle più valorose guerriere asgardiane. Loki, però, non le presta alcuna attenzione.  
"Nulla, eh? Forse ho sbagliato completamente genere?" Riflette, schioccando le dita per far apparire una perfetta riproduzione di Thor. "Forse questo è più il tuo tipo, eh Laufeyson?"  
Un guizzo d'interesse balena negli occhi di Loki, prima che il suo volto ritorni una maschera d'indifferenza e risponda con algido distacco. "Il tipo che gradirei non rivedere più per il resto della mia immortale esistenza? In effetti sì, è proprio lui. Se proprio **dobbiamo** festeggiare il mio arrivo - apprezzo il pensiero, ma avrei preferito non perdere tempo in convenevoli - pretendo di avere cibo, compagnia e divertimenti che siano alla mia altezza, Gabriel."   
In men che non si dica, fa apparire dal nulla un banchetto degno di un re con tanto di stoviglie e calici d'oro e d'argento. A seguire donne, e uomini, provenienti da ogni angolo dei meno belligeranti Nove Regni.  
Il sosia di Thor, naturalmente, è sparito.

"Ah, lasciatelo dire: mio fratello Castiel ed i Winchester messi assieme sono ancora anni luce dai tuoi livelli di negazione. Contento tu..." Sospira, sconsolato, prima di unirsi alla festa organizzata dal suo nuovo socio.  
Ha sempre voluto sapere se le feste asgardiane sono così memorabili come le si racconta.

Ora che ne ha l'occasione, be', sarebbe un vero **peccato** sprecarla.


	3. Chapter 3

p>It can't be him. A vulgar - no matter how intriguing and chivalrous - thief. She cannot be meant to be with someone who is so unfamiliar with the luxuries of life. Like a good warm bath to get rid of the wilderness clinging on his skin, you know?  
Yet the lion tattoo does not lie. It's right there, on his forearm.  
She picks up on its familiar shape as he puts his son to sleep, she commits it to her memory as he get rid of the shirt that the flying monkey have torn to pieces.  
She knows that here, in _this_  world, she cannot fool herself with the belief that it might be a coincidence. She is unable to laugh it off as the choice of a Game of Thrones enthusiast who is particularly fond of the Lannisters and their crest.

"Do you like what you see, Your Majesty?" He whispers in her ear, flirtatiously, taking her by surprise. She was so busy staring at the tattoo, tattoo, at _him_  and his sculptured arm that she failed to notice just how close they were.  
It takes her a moment to regain her composure and reply.

Now, she has two options. Keep denying her feelings for the man out of pride, or giving in.  
The first is quite a tantalizing choice, indeed, because she hates the idea of destiny bringing them together. Fate has always been so cruel to her that she is almost tempted to drive Robin away just out of spite.  
Almost. Then she remembers that night, when she was offered the chance to be with him and she ran away.  
She won't make the same mistake again.

"Hardly." Regina scoffs, pretending to be unaffected by his proximity.  
She walks away, smiling at his ill-concealed disappointment.  
A man like him, who enjoys the thrill of the hunt, has to be led into thinking she is an elusive prey. She can concede him that illusion, right until the moment he will understand that she's the one who caught him and hence surrender to her.

Oh, this is going to be so much fun.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something along the lines of “I don’t like you, but here’s my heart, can you keep it a bit longer?”

Her heart is safe now, but she is not eager to have it back in her chest. Without it, it is easier to compartmentalize. She is happy - though she cannot feel ecstatic - and that is enough for her. Without it, she can will know sadness but not despair.  
It's pretty good, really. Giving it up doesn't seem like the best option anymore.  
It was easy to say 'Just wait until I get my heart back'' to Robin, a couple of hours ago, but is a lot harder to actually take that heart and put it back. Besides, she trusts the man to handle it with care. So, really, there's only one thing she can say to him just as he is about to hand it to her.

"I don't like you, thief, but would you mind keeping it a little bit longer?" Regina asks, in quite casual - if not a little detached - tone.

He smiles at that, of course. If he is bemused by her request, or offended by her statement, he sure is a master at hiding it under the pretence of amusement.

Robin should mock her for saying that she doesn't like him and then kissing his lips, but he doesn't. 

"As you wish, Milady." He answers, when they break apart to breathe. He takes the heart back, tucking it in the pocket inside his jacket so that it beats just above his own. It's a small, simple, gesture but it means so much to Regina that she cannot help but kiss him again. Robin cradles her head, runs his rough fingers through her silky hair and holds her close.

He understands, probably because he feels the same way about her.   
While her behavior might seem illogical, it really isn't. She gets that from an outsider perspective it doesn't make quite sense that she can both like and dislike him at the same time, but she doesn't care what others might think.  
To her, it does.

She can't stand his gentleness, his understanding and his forgiveness for what she has done in the past.  
She is irked by his determined, yet not aggressive, manners when he disagrees with her.   
There must be something that upsets this man, that takes out the worst of him, but she doesn't know what.

She doesn't know the little things that annoy him, the way she did with Daniel.  
Daniel, who was better not to approach before he had spent at least a couple of minutes with his beloved horses. Who had rarely anything to offer in a debate, but was an amazing listener.  
Who could sulk like a baby for hours, if they didn't get to go riding that day.  
Who wasn't perfect, but that she loved even for those little meaningless faults.

Robin, on the other hand... She's fond of his every single inch of his body (it would be stupid to even try to deny it), and she appreciate him as the hero she has come to know through the silly movies from this world.   
Still, he feels like a figment from her immagination. From one of those very good dreams that had her waking up wet and panting, one of those that felt so real that she always turned to look at the man by her side and found no one (and when Graham was there, well, it still didn't feel right).

She wants him to break his walls and find out who he really is.  
A man she can love, with all his merits and his shortcomings.  
His heart seems to be heavily guarded, under that archer-in-forest-smelling-clothes show that he likes to put on, but this is a fight Regina is not willing to lose.

No matter how long it is going to take.


	5. Take a bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Guiglielmo Tell" (Wilhelm/William Tell)

Regina has been dreading this moment for weeks. Since she choose to give her heart to Robin, to be more specific. She has avoided to linger on her worries, especially with Zelena providing a good reason to concentrate on anything else but that. 

Now, however, time has come to face those fears. Realizing that reason and logic do not help at all.  
Robin knows about her past, knows what the Evil Queen did and he is well aware of how resentful she is used to be. Despite it all, he stayed.  
Yet, a voice in her head can't help but make her notice that it might be because the Evil Queen never did anything to him personally.  
Regina doubts he would be so understanding if she was responsible of Marian's death, or if she did something to threaten Roland's life, even by proxy. 

Like working together with King George, for example.  
Both him and David shoot the man a hateful glare the moment he walks in. Even the benevolent Snow finds it hard to tolerate a man who never cared for the son he raised, but they all see that this meeting is necessary to avoid a future uprising.  
Unless they prefer to murder the old man, which would be the most practical one (and the easiest too). 

"I was told I would be meeting the rulers of this land, not with a bunch of frauds." He comments, looking at David and Robin. "What names do you go by, today? Prince Charming and William Tell?" 

************************************************************* 

_This was not what he and Marian fought for. Not the world they tried to build for Roland.  
King Richard was supposed to rule the country, restoring it to its former magnificence and wealth, instead of being locked up after an inglorious defeat against King George._

_They all had been so naive, thinking that John Lackland would give up the kingdom without a fight, without even calling for back up from other realms as corrupted as his own._

_They have been equally foolish to hope his mysterious ally was the Evil Queen, who might have had a reputation of being murderous, heartless and vendictive towards anyone who dared to try to steal from her. Or offer some help to her step-daughter. They didn't know who the girl was, and since they would have hardly tried to rob such a powerful witch... Probably she would have just let them be.  
Forgot they even existed._

_King George, on the other hand, just saw another land he could exploit._

_Injustice and greed were back, stronger than before._

_They did what they could to help the poor, but that was hardly enough when the devious king made sure to break both their spirit and pride.  
If the army were to find out that someone got their money back from bandits... Well, those soldier would murder him brutally as a traitor and burn his neighbours' houses down, because they were all guilty of being accomplices, of course._

_And despite all of this, the king still demanded to be revered and worshipped like a benevolent divinity.  
There was even an altar, in the biggest square of the capital, where the subjects had to pay their respects. By bowing down to the higher authority the altar respresented, first, and then leave their offers.  
The more money one left, of course, the better._

_Usually Robin just steered clear of the city, preferring to help out villagers and countrymen.  
He couldn't, however, turn a deaf ear to their requests. Especially if they were asking to help their children, who went to the capitol in the hope of getting a better job and found themselves becoming slaves to a tyrant.  
Still, he refused to bow down to King George. To go near that altar without spitting on it._

_He knew his cockiness would get him in trouble, but he didn't care. Losing Marian had not been enough to teach him to grin and bear it, to swallow his pride if it meant saving the lives of many._

_The day he set foot in the infamous square, of course, he refuse to even acknowledge the altar despite he could feel Keith's eyes on him. The man, who still wasn't over him 'stealing' Marian away - as if the woman herself had no choice in the matter - couldn't wait to have a solid reason to get him hanged. High treason against the King could do, couldn't it?_

_"Hey, you! Identify yourself!" He demanded, once he was sure the man was alone and no other 'merry man' would intervene. He slowly approached Robin, while his small troop blocked his way out of the square.  
Keith knew all too well who was hiding under that hood, but he was also aware that calling him out by his real name wasn't the wisest option, for him.  
It would, indeed, reaveal everyone that he lied to King George, that he never got rid of the crime in country once, including "the hooded guy who broke into your dear friend Malificent's castle, called Robin Hood. Yes, my Lord, I've hanged him with my own hands".  
It wouldn't matter that he caught him just now: rulers don't take lying too well, regardless of the final outcome._

_Of course, the outlaw could identify himself as Robin Hood... But Keith figured that the archer would hardly give away his true identity to the King's army if he could._

_"William Tell, Sir. Is there a problem?" Robin asked, trying not to sound too mocking and failing miserably.  
"Yes, there is: we haven't seen you bowing to Our King as you walked across the square, you peasant." One of the soldiers growled, as he grabbed him by his collar.  
"I wasn't aware that Our King and Saviour, Lord George the High and Mighty, had been turned into a stone pillar. I suppose the crown on top should have given that away?" _

_Someone among the crowd laughed at that, prompting the men to seize him.  
Keith then asked everyone who was witnessing the scene to watch them closely and see for themselves what happened to anyone who was stupid enough to disrespect the King.  
Six men against one, kicking the shit out of him... and no one dared to raise a finger.  
It was comforting to know that, at least, Roland was already on his way back to the camp with Little John and hadn't been there to see his father beaten into a pulp._

_Then came the prison, and the ominous "the King himself will determine what kind of punishment a man like you deserves".  
Turned out that he deserved to be made into a spectacle, to be asked to hit an apple placed on the top of Roland's head.  
He had three shots: if he failed to cut the apple in half, well, the King would kill them both._

_King George must had heard that he was skilled with bows - which was almost ironic, given the reason he had been imprisoned, wasn't it? Well, George thought it was and his word was law, so... - but he clearly underestimated his talent.  
Nearly no one could have succeeded at the first try, so that he could use the two other poisoned arrows to spark a ruckus among the large group of people surrounding him.   
No one but William Tell, of course.  
The diversion was enough to let him and Roland get away, with the help of his friends._

_And despite his fellow countrymen and countrywomen were trying to have him as the leader of an upcoming rebellion, he exiled himself so that he would never cross paths with the king again.  
Did that mean he had been defeated? Sure it did, but putting Roland's life at stake once again was not an option._

_They were miles away from civilization when the curse hit their land, so it took a while for them to hear that King George - along with nearly everyone else, really - had been sent to a land without magic.  
When they did, though, they celebrated for the whole night. _

_Finally, they were free._

*****************************************************************

"Close enough, I guess?" David comments, with a grin. He had heard about William Tell, the next best archer in the land after his beloved Snow, and the tales about him were so inspiring that he would have loved to have him as a guest to their wedding... If only he knew where he disappeared to, that is.

"I'm King David." He extends his hand, not really minding that the old man refuses to take it.   
"And I'm Robin Hood. I'm afraid reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated, Your Majesty." Robin says in a tone that gives away just how much he despises the man in front of him.

"Do you really wish to associate with this people, Ms. Mills? Are you really expecting me to do the same?" George ignores them all, adressing his accusation to Regina. How foolish have you become in Storybrooke, how low have you fallen? I recall a proud, powerful Queen who worked by my side to destroy..."

"She found out that bringing misery to others was not going to make her happy. She discovered power and wealth are great, but they are not enough to make a life worth living. She changed. For worse, you say?  
I don't care. I'm here because they asked me to, because despite everything that I done they trust me to be their advisor. And well, if _this_ is going to be your attitude... Enjoy the little holiday that I am gonna give you." She snaps her fingers, making King George disappear in a cloud of smoke.

"Did you just...?" Both David and Snow exclaim, in unison.

"... killed him? No, I wouldn't hear the end of it if I did, right? I just gave him a second chance by dropping him in the middle of the woods, disarmed, at the mercy of his former subjects. He might make his way back here through cunning and murder or choose to ask for forgiveness and try to regain their trust, building his kingdom from scratch. It's up to him." She explains, patiently, rolling her eyes at the Charmings' accusation. "We all know that it's pretty obvious that he's going to choose the easiest road, who wouldn't? Beside you two and Mr. Honorable Hood here, I mean. Now, if you'll excuse me... I have other matters to attend to, like giving my son his first official tour of the Enchanted Forest." She leaves in a hurry, before she can see disgust written all over Robin's face.

It was she deserves, for having joined forces with a man like George.  
Someone stops her, though, tapping lightly on her shoulder. She turns, ready to command to be left alone but Robin silences with a finger upon her lips.

"You. You wouldn't take that road again, Regina. Maybe once upon a time you would have, but not anymore." And there it is. His way of saying 'I don't care who you were back then, I love who you are now.'

"How can you be so sure?" She asks, more than a little baffled at his firm belief in her benevolence.  
"Because I know how it feels to finally have something worth fighting for. Something you can cherish only by taking the longest and most tortuous road. I used to run from that road too, but now I'd love if we walked it together. Can we?" 

She nods, taking his hand and holding it tight.  
She wonders when Robin would cease to amaze her. Soon this honeymoon fase of their relationship is going to come to an end, isn't it?

Right. Soon, but not right now.  
And she's gonna love every single minute of it. Until it lasts.


	6. Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Garrett/underage!Ward

Ti affascina, ed allo stesso tempo ti disgusta. Non ti fidi nemmeno un po' di lui, ma lasceresti che decida della tua vita o della tua morte. Cosa che, in effetti, sta già facendo.  
Quasi ti fa rimpiangere i sei mesi nel bosco, l'unico periodo in cui sei stato l'unico fautore del tuo destino.  
Lì non eri né il figlio degenere e piromane né sacco da boxe su cui scaricare le proprie frustrazioni. Rimanevi, sì, all'interno di chissà quale progetto di uno psicopatico - ma chi sei, tu, per giudicare la sanità mentale altrui? Andiamo, siamo seri. - ma il suddetto individuo non era nei dintorni, per cui... Avresti anche potuto trovare qualcuno che ti portasse via, volendo. Ti avrebbe comunque ritrovato, quello. E poi, sotto sotto, ci tenevi a dimostrargli che sapevi cavartela. Che puntare su di te non sarebbe stato uno sbaglio.  
Lì eri Grant Ward. Nient'altro che Grant Ward.

Adesso non sai se rimanere sia stato saggio. Se, piuttosto, non ti sarebbe convenuto passare la tua vita a sfuggirgli.  
Perché ora non sei altro che una marionetta fra le sue sapienti mani, pronto a seguire senza indugio qualsiasi suo ordine.   
O forse sarebbe meglio dire un robot da combattimento, dal momento che immagazzini ogni nuovo input e lo utilizzi per migliorarti ed essere il soldatino preferito di Garrett.  
Memorizzi ogni feedback, in modo da sapere in cosa migliorare e per non ricadere più nello stesso errore. 

_'Hai imparato ad usare una pistola? Bene. Ora vediamo come te la cavi senza.'  
' _Te la cavi nel combattimento a mani nude? Ottimo. Osserviamo cosa succede se sei ammanettato e con le gambe bloccate._ '_

_'Nah, non ci siamo. Sei troppo taciturno, bamboccione. E le tue bugie, oh quelle ti si leggono in viso.  
Sei così ingenuo che non si può proprio resistere al farti avere un bel faccia con la realtà, sai?'_

_'Le parole sono un'arma, ragazzo. Imparare a manipolare il tuo nemico è tanto importante quanto il saperlo disarmare. Ad uno come te, mi sa che ci vorranno anni per perfezionare questa sottile arte... Meglio che nel frattempo tu stia zitto e approfitti di altre tue doti naturali.'_

Doti che, naturalmente, si è premurato di affinare lui stesso. Insegnandoti ad essere un abile amante, attento e deciso. Generoso con chi vuol essere coccolato, un assoluto bastardo con chi preferisce venir trattato come una pezza da piedi. Sempre e comunque distaccato e conscio che il sesso è soltanto un espediente per raggiungere i propri scopi.  
Si è rivelato essere piuttosto paziente, molto più di quanto ti saresti mai aspettato. Avrà anche sbeffeggiato le tue incertezze e i tuoi sbagli - ancora senti nelle orecchie la sua risata quando ti sei quasi strozzato nel tuo primo, goffo, tentativo di fargli un pompino... ti sei confermato alquanto incapace con la bocca, ma le tue mani hanno un tocco impareggiabile - ma non ha mai alzato una mano contro di te. Non senza il tuo esplicito consenso, almeno.

Presto sarai pronto per essergli molto più utile, di potergli offrire di più di una scopata per scaricare la tensione -allora chissà che non ti riveli cosa mai nasconda sotto la maglia - anche se speri che l'essere cresciuto non ti renda meno attraente ai suoi occhi. Non sarebbe la prima volta che accade, dopotutto.  
Sarebbe la prima volta che ti dispiacerebbe, però.

Presto compirai diciott'anni, sarai una persona adulta. Forse perfino responsabile.  
Ma non sarai più _'Grant Ward, nient'altro che Grant Ward'_.

Oh, be', poco male. Chi mai potrebbe sentirne la mancanza?  
Tu, forse. Anche se, stai sicuro che dopo aver ammazzato un po' di gente ed esserti fatto usare un paio di volte preferirai di gran lunga essere un Signor Nessuno.  
Aspetta e vedrai.

Abbi fede e... Hail, Hydra.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NON-CON / ITALIANO

Tutto qui? Questo è davvero il tuo meglio? Che delusione.   
Farei meglio a metter fine alla tua patetica esistenza, ma non sono più l'uomo magnanimo di una volta. Come dici? Non lo sono mai stato, secondo te?

Tu non mi conosci affatto. Però, sai, non è che abbia molta importanza. La persona integerrima, che mai avrebbe picchiato il nemico disarmato e a terra, è morta ormai.

Se voglio qualcosa, io la prendo. Che siano soldi, armi o persone.   
Più si oppongono, più è divertente. I remissivi smettono di combattere quasi subito, ma i miei preferiti continuano a lottare fino all'istante in cui non mi vedo costretto a tramortirli.  
Non è neanche male quando t'implorano, tu gli fai credere che avrai pietà di loro e poi li prendi alle spalle e glielo ficchi su per il culo. A secco.

Cosa non fare una cosa del genere a Melinda May o Natasha Romanoff, per strappare loro di dosso quella maschera d'arrogante indifferenza. Mi devo accontentare di te, per ora.   
Di te, che cedi alla terza costola incrinata (dopo ginocchiata nello stomaco, la spalla lussata ed il braccio rotto ma questi son dettagli) e ti metti a quattro zampe come una cagna in calore. 

Osi anche lamentarti? Sei tanto stupido da non capire che questa è un'altra lezione, un'opportunità per crescere e non fartelo più mettere nel culo da nessuno?  
Io non so perché mi ostini ad avere a che fare con te, Ward.

Davvero.


	8. Chapter 8

Day by day, the grace he stole is getting weaker. Castiel can sense it, and not just in the ache of his bones or in the soreness of his muscles.   
He feels the pressing need to rest and there's a latent hunger that he can barely ignore anymore.   
In other words he will soon 'run out of angel juice', as Dean would most exquisitely put it.  
He might get his mojo back by killing Metatron or leading his brothers and sisters back home - or both, who knows? - but that's just a theory he shared with Sam and Dean so that they wouldn't worry about him turning suddenly into a feeble and useless human.

Truth is, he might be destined to become a regular Steve again in the end.  
Still, that time has yet to come. He is still an angel, though not a very powerful one, and it's pointless to worry for matters that lay ahead when there's little he can do about it.

He should concentrate on the perks of being an entity that can heal the nastiest wounds, instead, in a way the Winchesters couldn't, despite having to experience the pain that comes from bleeding and bruising and breaking bones.

Dean, in particular, seems quite fascinated with his current condition.  
He never said it aloud, but he's not that hard to read. Especially when it comes to his basic needs, like Sam or food .... or sex and Castiel. Dean is wondering if feeling every little ache in his body means that he can experience pleasure too.

"Honestly, I do not know. I haven't tried to answer that question. It didn't seem crucial to our mission and, besides, I wouldn't know how." He pops out of nowhere - just because he can, just because he loves making Dean jump and squirm - and sits right beside the hunter. On a bed too big for only one person, really.  
"Wha... the fuck are you talking about, dude? What question?" He tries to feign innocence. He fails.  
"The one concerning my ability to feel pleasure? Don't be ashamed of that, Dean. I am aware that, beside an understandable curiosity, it's out of concern that you are pondering about it. It would _'suck'_ if I only had to experience the cons of being nearly human, wouldn't it?" Castiel rebuts, kindly, as he observes the man's reactions . He's torn between jumping out of bed, jump on him - tackling him to the ground and then getting as far from him as he can - or just jump his bones. As usual.  
He opts for staying and stop lying to himself, today.  
"Aren't you, like, running low on your mojo? How can you...?" He turns to face Castiel, and finds him so close that he could kiss him if he wanted. Not now, though. In a minute, maybe.  
"Read your mind? I can't, Dean. I have never been able to. I do know how to read your face and your posture, however."   
"Yeah?" He comments, quite disbelieving. "And what are they telling you, right now?"  
"That... You'd like to see to if you can provide an answer to _that_ question yourself. That you have the means and the knowledge to it show me. What if I am not interested?"  
"You wouldn't be here, then. Don't play coy, 'cause I'm not falling for it." He smirks, teasing him with a quick and gentle kiss. "See, Cas? Two can play this game and I have been playing it much longer than you."  
"Still, what makes you think that you can... "  
His words get lost in another kiss, much hungrier and fiercer than the previous one. Dean bites at his bottom lip, and he doesn't find it quite as painful as he should. It's sensual and almost exhilarating, instead.

"This." His right hand finds his way beneath the fabric of Cas' shirt, and the pads of his fingers brush against his nipples. Suddenly, the light touch becomes a not so pleasurable pinch and yet he doesn't feel like asking Dean to stop. It's quite the opposite: the more painful it gets, the more he wants to see how far he can be pushed. "I bet you thought that pain and pleasure were mutually exclusive, didn't you? It doesn't make sense until you give it a try, which is exactly what I am planning to do."  
"Is there anything I can..."

"Follow my orders, Cas. No more than that. And, uh, errr... Agree for a safeword, I guess? Like, say 'pie' if it the pain gets too much to bear? It's meant to hurt, but it's not torture or anything like that, you know?"   
He can't say that he does, but he is more than willing to find out. So he nods.   
"Great." Dean whispers against his mouth, before standing up to collect all the tools that he is gonna need. Which amount to the number of two, because he doesn't want to risk overwhelming Cas. This need to be done gradually, carefully. Therefore, he will begin with his hunting knife and ropes. It should be enough for a quick, demonstrative session. The riding whip can wait until next time. 'Cause there is gonna be a next time, right?

"Why don't you start undressing yourself, instead of hovering behind my back like the creeper you are?" He adds, while rummaging in his drawers for lube.   
Castiel could cheat, get them both naked by simply snapping his finger but he doesn't. He slowly takes off his clothes, instead, and folds them neatly at the end of the bed. He makes sure that Dean can hear the rustle of the fabric against his skin, so that he can picture what is happening without having to look.   
"Well done." Dean says, once he turns and starts walking back towards the bed. "Now I want you to kneel on that mattress, and put your hands behind your back."   
As soon as he has done that, Dean is fastening the ropes around his wrists so thight that he can feel them cutting into his flesh already. And then there's the knife, carving into the skin of his thighs. Teeth, tearing away at his lips and nipping his neck. Nails, scratching his back and digging into his ass. And despite the fact that Dean has been carefully ignoring his cock, Castiel finds out that it is indeed quite interested in what has been going on elsewhere. The only thing he can do, to find some relief is rut against the sheets but Dean doesn't seem to be on board with that.  
"Did I give you permission to move, Cas? Because I don't recall allowing you to take any kind of initiative." The knife is near his face now, grazing his cheeks but not drawing any blood."Glad to see I'm getting my point across, on the other hand." His free hand makes a move toward the neglected erection, but then changes his mind and seizes his balls in a vise-like grip.   
"Dean, p-" Castiel murmurs quietly, making him stop and look at him in horror. Has he gone too far? He thought this was quite vanilla, for his taste... The taste of someone who had sex like a million times, which of course is not the same of someone who is rather new to it and how could he ever...

"Pie?" He offers, feeling quite ashamed with himself.  
Castiel shakes his head, then leans forward to whisper something into his ear. "Please."   
Dean doesn't ask him to elaborate on that: the chanting of his hips is suggestive enough. He jerks him off quickly, forcefully, without the use of any lube. He still wants it to hurt, at least a little.  
"Thank you." Castiel says, when he finally comes.

Damn, how is supposed to untie the knots that bind him, now?  
He shouldn't. He should tie him to the bedpost and fuck him so hard that Cas will never want to leave.  
"You're welcome." He chuckles, loosening the ropes. The bruises he sees will soon fade away, but that doesn't make them any less hot to him. Come on, how could being able to leave a mark on Cas feel any less then awesome?  
And Cas... Cas can really read _that_ on his face. Again.  
"They will never truly disappear, if you keep making new ones. I wouldn't really mind that." He admits, looking at the burns on his wrists and the cuts on his inner thighs.  
"Mh?" Dean mumbles, leaving butterfly kisses on his wrist and arms and shoulders.  
"I wouldn't mind that at all."   
"Good."


	9. Chapter 9

It's a shame I can't compel you to do this more often, brother.  
To let your instincts overrule your best judgment, trusting me not to cause you (too much) harm. I guess I should punish you for being so selfish, for not being there to comfort Hayley but... I have never being good at sharing my dearest ones - the depth of my feelings for Rebekah is common knowledge, I guess, but never doubt that I feel the same for you, Elijah - with others, so I can't help but gloat when I step into my room to find you there.

Still, if you hand me the tools to break you be sure that I will do my best to deliver. Handcuffing you to the bedpost, carving my name into your skin with a knife and watching it disappear, pounding so hard into your body that you won't be able to walk for a day.   
There's something wrong, though. Something is missing.  
This is not half as satisfying, you know, if I can't hear you suffer below the hand that is muffling your moans. I really want to turn that into screams.  
"Should I flay you for all the times you turned your back on me, brother? For your impudence in the graveyard?" I ponder, even if I know the answer already.

"Oh, fuck yeah. You definitely should." A gravelly voice comments, from behind us.

Hey, what was that? Are we being watched?  
Do we have a lustful wolf in the house who gets off watching us together?  
Who enjoys tearing you apart nearly as much as I do?  
I know I just said that I don't like sharing, but... Should I really send her away?

No, not when I can see in your eyes that you feel humilatied by having her here.  
I kinda ruined your whole knight-in-bloody-armor facade, didn't I? More like 'bitch-in-fancy-clothes', right now.  
She's gonna stay. Join in too, if she feels up to it.

"As you wish, my dear. Hand me the whip, will you?"


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 'DUB-CON'

Will is not _that_ drunk.   
He's not sober, either. That's why the better option should be to excuse himself and walk away.   
However, he's been having trouble choosing what's best for him lately. His body might be screaming 'run', but his mind is telling him to stay. To drown himself in the darkness that is Doctor Lecter himself, to discover what evil tastes like and reassure himself that he's different. Except he isn't, and he doesn't really need to get this close to the man to know that.   
He's kissing him because he have been craving to do that for so long, longer then he would ever dare to admit, and it's like finding a kindred soul. Someone who wants to swallow him whole, to bend him and break him just to have the pleasure of observing how the pieces would fall, as he comes crumbling down. 

It's not surprising that Hannibal feels no guilt in taking advantage of his inebriated state, really. That he plays on WIll's quite plastered state, and goes much further than a heavy make out session or mutual handjobs.  
And while Will never really thought about having sex with him, he can't find in himself a good reason to refuse.  
Being nothing more than a means to an end, something Hannibal needs in order to see his design fulfilled...  
Yeah, that could be at the top of a very long list that he has torn into pieces from the moment he kissed his lips.

"I'm glad I found you, Will. Finally we are whole, you and I." Hannibal whispers, fondly, in his ear as he slides into him.

One could chalk it up as a coitum-induced delirium, but he knows better.  
Hannibal means what he just said: that's what makes those words so powerful and terrifying at the same time.  
They do complete each other; they will undoubtedly be each other's downfall.

But that's okay. At least it would be for one of the few that really caught his interest.  
There are far worse way to go down, right?


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One-sided, angst | Slash, post 3x16 / ITALIANO

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: : "Happiness is your biggest enemy. It weakens you. Puts doubts in your mind. Suddendly you have something to lose."

Harvey non ha mai deposto le armi senza nemmeno iniziare a combattere. Non gli è mai importato granché di subire qualche lieve perdita, se ciò può condurlo alla vittoria finale. Tanto più che sono spesso stati i suoi clienti a dover rinunciare a qualcosa - e lui è sapientemente riuscito a persuaderli che quella cosa non fosse affatto necessaria, che fosse addirittura nociva - più che lui, personalmente.

Ora, però, si accorge di quanto sia difficile lasciar andare qualcosa (qualcuno) a cui tieni , senza poter opporre la benché minima resistenza.  
Ma Mike è felice, ora. Con Rachel invece che con lui e la cosa non è che gli piaccia granché ma il punto è che lo deve lasciare andare. Per il suo bene. Per il bene della Pearson & Specter. Per il bene di tutti, tranne che per quello di Harvey.  
Perché ora, ora che ha _tutto_ da perdere, il timore di essere scoperto si trasformerà ben presto in terrore. Ciò, naturalmente, gli impedirà di fare il proprio lavoro come si deve. Tenere una tale mina vagante nel proprio studio, senza nemmeno più aver alcun vantaggio dalla sua presenza... Be', è fuori discussione, no?

Non può fare altro che dargli la sua benedizione, augurargli che ovunque vada non combini altri casini. Vorrebbe quasi vietargli di farsi un altro mentore - in tutti i sensi possibili ed immaginabili, esatto - ma poi, osservando quant'è cresciuto da quando si sono incontrati la prima volta... Be', non crede sia necessario.  
Potrebbe essere Mike, ora, il mentore di qualche povero sprovveduto. Di un disperato all'ultima spiaggia, diciamo.  
"Fatti sentire, mi raccomando." Gli dice, prima di salutarlo definitivamente. Neanche ci spera, Harvey, perché sa che non lo farà. Rachel sarà l'unico legame che gli rimarrà con il suo vecchio studio legale, e fingerà che il resto non sia mai esistito.

Valeva la pena provare. Vale sempre la pena provare, con Mike.  
Può anche sorprenderti, di tanto in tanto.  
Chissà che non lo faccia anche stavolta.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on this prompt: http://imagineyourotp.tumblr.com/post/76024420476/imagine-your-otp-going-to-a-baseball-hockey-game
> 
> Reference for Mike's clothes: http://malecelebbio.com/gallery/2014/01/Patrick-J.-Adams-17.png

There's no reason to panic, Michael.  
You know this is a courtesy call and not a date. Certainly **not** a date with Harvey. What about that moment when Donna gave you tickets for tonight's game and sent you off with a "Have fun" and a wink?  
Well, it's all part of a carefully designed plan, of course. She and Harvey want to fool you into thinking this is not about work, but you won't fall for their cheap tricks.

Harvey showing up in a white henley shirt and faded blue jeans, however, is kind of a low blow. They had almost had you fooled with that. But then you thought about yourself, about the way you were dressed and the fact that those clothes had been sent to you in a package sent by none other than Donna herself.  
You recalled what was written on the note attached to them: _'Dress code: casual. Not hobo. Please do yourself a favour and wear these tonight.'_  
She wouldn't have made sure you looked awesome without a specific purpose, right?

Somehow you doubt that said purpose could be having Harvey checking you out from head to toe and muttering something along the lines of "Damn, you look ho- nice. I definitely should hire Donna as your personal stylist." That's just a bonus, isn't it?  
Still, it's Donna Paulsen we are talking about. You can never know.  
The client, after all, is nowhere in sight. Maybe you'll meet up with him later. Maybe he's a player down on the field.  
Or perhaps there's no client and you're making a fool of himself by not getting that this is indeed a date.

You've got to play it from another angle, then. Whatever this is, you've got to play along and follow Harvey's script.  
You can do that. You can chat and flirt with him, and roll your eyes when he boasts about dozen of influential 'friendships' he made over the years as a lawyer. You can tease him back, claiming that you can do better than him in half the time.  
What you cannot do is deal with the fact that you're on the kiss cam, right now. You downright freeze up, as your cheeks turn a bright shade of red. And you're supposed to be the shameless one, the kid who couldn't give a fuck about what a bunch of of strangers think about him... it's not like you have a reputation to uphold, after all.  
Nonetheless, it's Harvey who takes the matter into his own hands - as per usual - and claims your lips with a kiss.

Not an affectionate peck, a bone thrown to the audience as the camera rolls on and shifts onto someone else.  
No. It's eager, passionate and hungry. Absolutely lacking the finesse you are used to associate with Harvey.  
The heat you can feel on your face is almost unbearable, now, and all the clapping and whistling isn't really helping.  
It doesn't get better when you finally draw apart to breathe, because he's got this smug look on his face.  
One can clearly be interpreted as: _'All wishing you had a boyfriend hot like mine, aren't you? Well, I'm sorry - not sorry, not at all, not even one bit - but he's already taken.'_

In this very moment, you're a little conflicted. On one hand, you kind of want to crawl into a small dark corner and die. On the other, you want to drag Harvey to your flat - it's the nearest - and do a lot more than just kiss him.  
The second option seems a little more feasible, tonight.  
"My place?" You whisper, nibbling at his earlobe.  
"We'll see about that."


	13. Chapter 13

It's not that Fitz - _Leo_ , it's Leo now that he can't hear her - has always been there. People tend to believe they are one entity, born and raised together, but it's not like that. They are wrong and that's a fact.  
Jemma can recall plenty of times, in her childhood, when she was facing the world alone.   
Her parents tried to make her feel included, but they couldn't really do much for a kid who 'loves homework more than life itself' (Leo's words, not hers, thank you very much) and was more fascinated with science than with people.

Besides, loneliness didn't even bother her back then. She couldn't miss what she didn't know. But now, now she knows.   
She knows that Leo has always been by her side when it mattered. On her graduation days, at each and every conference she held - okay, nearly all of the projects she's worked on involved him too, so it's not like he could miss those things, but still...  
He was there when she was isolating herself, back at the academy, because she didn't want to show to her classmates just how miserably homesick she was.

"I'm starting to miss everything, you know? Even my mother's poor attempts at cooking, and that's saying something because she nearly poisoned me once. I miss the rain. And the fog. I think I've never seen fog around here, at least none that wasn't artificially created by devices that could really benefit from an upgrade and... Are you gonna make me do all the talk here? I believe I've never talked so much in my life, plus I am not very familiar with conversational etiquettes so... A little help, please?"

"I'm not really familar with said procedure either, I'm afraid. But I do know plenty about engineering, biology and chemistry. You could share some insight on my last essay, if you want. " She smiled at the fact that they were both so awkward and inept and this 'social skills' thing that didn't even introduced themself - there would have been time for that... there was - before starting to ramble about the respective scholastic achievements.  
It was refreshing to finally have someone who could understand her, who did not see her cleverness as a threat for his bright future but as something that made her unique.  
Someone she could always talk to or be silent with, as they both worked on their newest research.

Ever since that day she has taken him for granted.   
She thought "There could never be a Simmons with her Fitz or a Fitz without his Simmons." and that was it. As simple as that. Never had she questioned her feelings for him or what he could have felt for her.  
Because that would only take her down that road, the one when she start hearing the voice of her psych evaluators warning her against nurturing such a co-dependent relationship when she is fully aware of being a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. Because being part of something so big means putting one's life in danger, even if one is not out on the field and... They don't know sh-crap about her and Leo. 

She can survive without him,. She can be a well adjusted and useful member of Coulson's team. She has made peace with the fact that she might have to work alone - replacing him is not an option, Coulson know better that try to do that - but she will be someone different. She cannot be Jemma Simmons again, not without Leopold Fitz.  
So she really needs him to wake up from this medically induced coma, okay?  
Because she doesn't to give up on him or the woman she is with him either.

"You can't do this to me, Leo. You better heal that brain of yours as fast as you can and come back, do you understand? Because we need you. I need you" She sniffles a little, but before she can wipe her tears away she feels his hand on her cheek.

"Hey you, are are you feeling? Do you know who am I and where are you presently located?" He moves his head imperceptibly but she would swear on her life (and on her papers too) that that was a nod.   
She punches him lightly on his arm, and revels in receving a punch back on her shoulder. 

"Don't you ever dare try to be the hero and put your life on the line for me again. Because next time I am gonna murder you with my own hands." She tries to sound all serious and threatening, but it doesn't really work with her shaky overjoyed voice.

He is alive. He recognizes her and has mobility in his upper body. It's not much - he's not talking yet - but it's a start. She can work with that.

"Mhmh." He mutters, cradling her head between his hands as she kisses every little inch of his face.   
"I'm gonna do it, I swear." She insists, before settling down and falling asleep on his chest.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teen Wolf, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
> 
> And though you hate me, when you have a turn  
> I drive you crazy but you always return
> 
> (Bloodsport, Raleigh Ritchie)

I'm so done with you. I'm done with your glares, your abrasive attitude and despotic tendencies.  
You keep saying that I annoy you, that you can barely stand me and yet you come looking for me every fucking time.  
What am I supposed to do with that? Why should I care, when I finally got Lydia to see me as a potential boyfriend and Malia who wouldn't be totally against being friends with benefits?  
Tell me, because I fail to understand. Like, big time. And I'm usually pretty good at reading people, but damn, when I try to read between the line with you it's all Greek to me.

You're even friends with Chris Argent, now, and that kinda sucks.  
I mean, I know you're probably bonding over your shared epic manpain - and I also know that I'm being so unfair to Chris, since **I** killed his daughter - but if you can be corteous and polite with him then why do you have be such a douchebag when I am around?

Scott says that it's because you have a crush on me. That I make you nervous by just being in the same room with you, and that's why you lash out.   
Sounds like something _Peter_ would suggest, in all his grandious crazyness, rather than my usually reliable best friend.  
I mean, it makes no sense at all. Unless we are back in third grade and you are one of those obnoxious kids who show their fondness through pinching and shoving. 

So, long story short: you better give me a damn good explanation for your recent behavior or I am out. I swear. For maybe a week, really. And then I'll come back here. Because, honestly, I'm no better than you: I don't mean half of the shit I say to you. And I am probably guily sending mixed signals too. 

I want to be around you, but you bring out the worst in me and I kind hate that.  
I kinda hate you too, except I'm not even close to despising you. I would almost call you a friend, except that you don't usually picture yourself doing all kind of - very dirty - things with your friends, I guess.

"Have I done something, lately, to deserve of disdain from you?" I insist, as you slap my hands away from your wounds and snarl at me. Do you trust me so little? Do you actually think I would hurt you?  
You might not be my favourite person in the world - one of the most irritatingly arousing, probably - but I never take advantage of this. I would never kick a dog when it's down. Well, except if said 'dog' is Peter. Or Deucalion. 

"You made me fall in love with you." You answer, growling again. "And the more I try to hate that, and to hate you, the less I actually succeed."  
Fuck. Scott was actually right. I'm so, so screwed.

"Okay?" I find myself saying, before I can really process what just happened. Great.  
And the award for crappiest reponse to a shitty confession goes to... Stiles Stilinski.   
I wouldn't blame you if you kicked me out right now, Derek. A man's gotta need some time alone after opening his heart and getting a lukewarm response.

"Okay. Now get out. I can take care of myself." There; called it.  
I could stay, and try to clarify that that wasn't a rejection but actually a _'I'm kinda confused and all over the place at the moment, but I appreciate that you don't find me neither repulsive nor heinous so thank you very much'_... but maybe I should go. "Are you waiting for me to forcefully kick you out, Stiles?"

Okay, I _really_ should go. This isn't over, though. At all.   
Just let me come to terms with it, alright? It won't take me long.

This is the beginning.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Aimes moi moins mais aimes moi longtemps" (Les Chansons D'Amour)
> 
> Multifandom ficlet. Interpret this as you please.

Don't you dare, I never asked you to and I would actually **hate** you if you did that. Particularly if you except me not to sacrifice myself too.  
It's selfish and disrespectful: if I don't wanna survive at your expence, well, you cannot coherce me into doing it. Of course, now you're thinking that once you are dead nothing else will matter. My hatred won't matter. Spitting on your grave won't matter. Burning your fucking bones to ash won't matter... Because in the end, you got what **you** wanted: you saved me, I am alive. 

Listen, I understand where you're coming from. I really do. You love me too much to let me die, so if you have a chance to prevent it you'll go for it and screw the consequences.   
I'm just asking you to consider that no, I wouldn't do the same if I were in your shoes. I would try to save us both, first. If that failed, then, I would fight by your side until the very end. I wouldn't force you to stay, but I wouldn't force you to leave either.   
So please, don't do this to me. Don't leave me behind. Can't you see that I am begging you, here? Have some mercy.

Love just a little less, just enough to care about self-preservation too, but love me longer.   
Long enough for us to marry. Long enough to see how grandchildren grow. If you don't want kids, that's fine: it was an awfully stereotyped and heteronormative of me to suggest that. We can change kids to kittens or puppies. Or cubs. Whatever you prefer, really.

See? I would never take any choice away from you. So don't take mine away from me, okay?  
Okay.


	16. Chapter 16

_'E ora? Ora che l'hai finalmente presa, Miss Swan riuscirà a mantener vivo il tuo interesse?_  
Credi davvero che non cercherà di cambiarti, di renderti più responsabile ed affidabile?  
Vuoi sul serio accollarti un moccioso per almeno i prossimi sei anni?  
Riflettici bene, perché non è detto che tra voi due le cose possano durare poi così tanto. Che si senta colpita dalla tua dedizione non ha alcuna rilevanza: non è indice della profondità dei suoi sentimenti nei tuoi confronti. Sempre che, effettivamente, qualcosa che vada oltre la semplice attrazione ci sia.' 

"Hook? Hey." La voce di lei lo ridesta dai suoi sciocchi e crudeli pensieri.  
"Mh?" Mormora sulle sue labbra, baciandola ancora una volta. Emma, però - come suo solito - non si lascia certo incantare da così poco.  
"Dimmi, **Killian** : a cosa diavolo stavi pensando, fino a un attimo fa? Non è che mi stai di nuovo nascondendo qualcosa, vero? Qualcosa che no, non è questione di vita o di morte perché **voglio** credere che certe cose ormai tu sappia che è meglio non tenermele segrete, ma -" Le poggia l'indice sulla bocca, interrompendola. Lei lo morde, o almeno tenta, facendolo sorridere.  
"Stronzate, Swan. Pensavo a delle stronzate tali che non valgono nemmeno la pena di essere menzionate." Ammette, giocando con una ciocca di capelli.  
"Simili a quelle che mi spingevano a tornare a New York?" Insiste, non volendone sapere di demordere. È più forte di lei, non ce la a non indagare più a fondo quando trova una pista.  
"Molto simili, suppongo." Conferma, cercando poi di distrarla con un altro bacio. Niente da fare, Emma ha inaspettatamente deciso che è meglio farsi due chiacchiere piuttosto che dedicarsi ad attività ben più soddisfacenti. Sarà l'influenza di Mary Margaret, probabilmente.  
"Che tu già sappia che sono pensieri privi di fondamento, che non puoi dare per scontato che ogni persona che incontri sia destinata a deluderti, be'... è un inizio. Il difficile sarà convincersene, ma credo che per certa gente vale pena di fare questo sforzo."  
" _Certa_ gente?" Ripete, divertito.  
"Sì, sai di chi parlo: principi azzurri, principesse in fuga nei boschi, pirati in attesa di una nuova avventura..." E la lista si fa di giorno in giorno più lunga, tanto che non si sorprenderebbe se prima o poi includesse perfino Regina. O Mr. Gold.  
"Non sai quanto mi faccia piacere sentirtelo dire, Emma." Oh be', non è difficile capirlo dal ghigno che gli si è disegnato in faccia, davvero.

"Lo immagino." Ribatte Emma, senza scomporsi minimamente. Lungi da lei dare altre soddisfazioni a quest'individuo dall'ego sconfinato. "Comunque direi di prendercela con calma, eh?"  
Più che una domanda è un'affermazione, sottolineata dal suo alzarsi e tornare verso l'entrata della tavola calda.  
Potrebbe insistere, Hook, perché in fondo è la sua serata fortunata. Lasciare che sia Emma a condurre il gioco è molto più divertente, però.  
Decisamente più impegnativo.

"Nonostante tutti quelli che vorrebbero farci fuori?"  
È un interrogativo più che legittimo, visto l'incredibile susseguirsi di minacce che continuano a presentarsi nella cittadina.  
"Alla faccia loro, Capitano." Gli sussurra in un orecchio, prima di mordergli il lobo. "Ci stai?"  
"Puoi contarci."


	17. A day I am glad I survived

Klaus can feel it coming. It's already there, in her eyes, though she has not voiced it out yet.  
He really hopes it's a simple and innocent one, one that he can answer without having to lie or omit part of of the truth.

"Dad..." She says, looking up from the picture she has been drawing for the past two hours - and refusing to show him, claiming that _'It's that that was not for **him** to see'_ \- "... why do grown ups celebrate birthdays too, when you can buy your own presents whenever you like?"

He smiles, quite amused with the question. She does have a point, after all.  
Indeed, while he and Rebekah do celebrate the occasion because there's no point in turning down any occasion to throw a party, Elijah has stopped minding about his own birthday ever since he died as a human.

"We'll all got our reasons, luv. Sometimes it's about rejoicing in the fact that you survived yet another year. To other people, people like us... Well, it's more about being glad to be in this world, I guess. Or showing a certain someone we are happy to have _him_ in our lives, aren't we?"

"I AM!" She yells, enthusiastically. "That's why I am drawing him this, the beautifullest, awesomest art he has ever seen." _'Humbleness sure runs in the family'_ he's almost tempted to comment, but doesn't because Hope has another question ready for him. "Are you?"

"Happy to have him in my life?" He asks, to be sure he got the question right.  
"Yep." She nods, eagerly waiting for a reply.

He doesn't give one straight away, though. Honestly, he is a little taken aback from the fact that she even _has_ to ask. Isn't it obvious? Maybe not.  
And while he knows that there's not hidden accusation behind her question, that she's just curious because **this** birthday party is not a common occurence, it still troubles him.  
She does not know, not yet, about the many wrongs her father did to plenty of people... especially to his family.  
She is not malicious enough, not at all (and that's kind of surprising, given how much time she spent with her aunt) to think this is a poor attempt of setting the proper mood to ask someone a rather massive favour.  
Still, one day she might be. And he doesn't like that, not even one bit.

Even though he has to admit to himself that she wouldn't be totally wrong in thinking that, would she?  
It is highly likely that he would ask people favours, in the near future, and he has finally learnt that they usually comply when shown kindness rather than being threatened so yeah, he gains from having amicable relationships with them, but still... It's not about that. Not this time, not for _him_.

"Of course, darling. He is **my** brother, after all. He's been that for waaaaaaay longer that he's been your uncle." He smirks at his daughter disgruntled face, loving to tease her about having a special place in her beloved uncle's heart. Against his own expectations, he finds it rather endearing that she has such a big and hopeless crush for Elijah. And really, it is better for her to chase after someone that she can never have and who loves her dearly rather than falling for some idiotic scoundrel like... Like... Damon Salvatore, right? "And I'd like this party to be a surprise, so please don't tell him anything. I do know that you hate to keep secrets from Elijah, but can you do that for me, sweetie?"

"Okay. I'll try. But he is really good at guessing without me speaking, dad." Hope laments, afraid that she might not be able to accomplish the task her father has just given to her. She likes being giving tasks, she loves to see her dad smile when she succeeds.  
"Believe me, I know. I'd still appreciate the effort." He concedes, playing with her hair and then dropping a kiss on the top of her head. 

Unexpectedly she does not give away one single thing and, while Elijah can feel that something is happening behind his back, he does not find out what Klaus has in store for him until the party begins.  
It hasn't been easy to gather the people of this relentlessly bellicose city, to have them swear not to stir up any trouble. It was worth it, though.  
To see his eyes light up, to look at a hard and strict line turning quickly into a fond smile as he picks up Hope and observes the picture she is offering him as a present. He deserves it.

"Happy birthday, Elijah." He says, hugging his older brother.  
"Niklaus, you shouldn't... I mean... Thanks." Elijah mutters back, sounding surpisingly close to tears. Clearly, he was moved by Klaus' (and Hope's) gesture.

Yeah, it was _so_ worth it.


	18. Chapter 18

It’s the first time in more than one hundred and sixty years that he really wishes he could just sleep in the whole days and pretend it _never_ existed.   
There have been years (plenty), in which it was simply a day like any other. For decades (more than a few), it had been an occasion to remember the curse he brought upon himself.  
Never has it been so painful, a vivid reminder of if what he has lost and cannot ever replace. Today there’s nothing to celebrate, nothing to willfully ignore. Both he and Elena know that, but that doesn't make it easy.  
Today is not Damon’s birthday. Not anymore.  
Never again.


	19. Chapter 19

He did it.   
He wasn't sure he could, not by a long shot. Especially after Beacon Hills became more targeted by deadly and murderous supernatural creatures than NYC by aliens in a blockbuster disaster movie - or Tokyo in an anime, you know?  
Surviving hasn't been easy. It hasn't been fun. Turning 18 doesn't mean much, when he has been an adult for years. Ever since he found half of a corpse in the woods, really.

Still, it makes him kinda happy to be finally able to say he is 18.  
To be with Derek without the man risking to be charged of statutory rape. Dude had enough troubles with his lovers already, and while screwing him is indeed something to look forward to, well, Stiles does not wish to screw him **up**. Up the ass, maybe, yes.

"Is there something you'd like for your birthday, other than my cousin all wrapped up and delivered to your door?" Malia inquires, smiling as though she has just unconvered his best hidden secret.  
As if everybody else in the pack (even that newbie, Liam!) does not know about how he keeps falling for brooding, short-tempered, passionate and downright hot Hales. The non-manipulative kind, of course.

"A party, maybe?" He suggests, knowing (hoping) that Lydia (not Scott, please... he loves the guy dearly but he's not the best party planner in the city) is taking care of that. "Or a big cake? Or shit not going down as I try to have my away with that hot cousin of yours?" 

It's good to be able to talk about it with her, no awkwardness present despite they dated for quite a while.  
"I can take care of that." She nods, and claps his back.  
"Thanks." He says, though he isn't sure that even someone like Malia could keep destiny from finding a way to fuck with him and Derek. "You sure you don't want a copy of a certain book that I have inadvertently 'stole' from Deaton , before I hand the original to Lydia?"  
How can she ask him to choose one over the other? If it's supposed to be a present, why can't he have both?  
"I want bo-... Imean, can I have both,please?"  
"You can have one for free, and the other for a really small price." She replies, deaf to his pleas.   
"Name it." He is so gonna regret this but... He wants the book and the coyote bodyguard pretty packapretty bad, so he goes straight to the point.

"Details,Stilinski. That's all I ask."  
"Huh?" He says, more than a little dumbfounded. What the...  
"Of what goes down between you and Derek, of course. I sure don't expect you to livetweet the event but... Jus know that iff you are gonna pretend nothing happened you can forget about the book."  
"Says who?" Stiles mutters, defiantly.   
"Says me, Lydia and Kira."  
"You are a bunch of perverts , living vicariously through my pretty much non-existent sex life, I hope you all know that."  
She doesn't have to reply. Hales and their fucking eyebrows and rolling eyes that just scream 'do I look like I give a fuck?'  
"Do we have a deal?" Malia asks,looking completely unfazed by his internal freak out, as she stretches out her hand.   
"Deal." He parrots, shaking her hand.  
When did his life became a source of entertainment for bored young women?  
Why doesn't he find it disturbing but, rather, a bit flattering?   
Who knows.  
Not Stiles,that's for sure.


	20. Friends without benefits

“Is this a joke to you, Harvey?”  
Well, while their business **is** based upon pleasure and, therefore, he likes to keep things from getting too serious… He never jokes about work. Or family. Or Mike.  
“No. I am all too aware of how serious this is.” He knows the _firm_ is facing charges that might shut it down, and the first thing he really should do - before the cops show up at their door – is to get rid of any potential weaknesses and unnecessary risks. In other words: he has to fire Mike.  
The thought of working at Pearson-Specter without Mike Ross, though, is so ludicrous that he cannot help but laugh. As soon as he does, he kind of regrets it because he can picture Jessica stiffening up and getting deadly serious before she even speaks a word. She is probably dressing in her most somber attire, wearing just of couple of jewels, putting on the barest amount of makeup, and painting her nails black so that everyone will know just how serious this whole situation is from the moment she walks in at the office.  
Of course he cares about his firm. Of course he doesn’t want a freaking storm to tear it down now that it finally found some stability and might be able to have the same **two** name partners for at least a couple of years.  
“I will find a way for us to survive without sacrificing Ross, okay? See you tomorrow, Jessica.” Right after that, he abruptly ends the call and cuts off any other protest from his partner. For a minute, he kinds of expects her to call back and chastise him for his rudeness. Then he remembers that he can do that now, choose when and how to end a conversation with her, since they are equals.

Its chilling, really, to realize how far he has come and what he might be about to lose. For what, really? For the rash and totally unwise decision to take this kid under his wing?   
What was he thinking, when he hired him? What is he thinking in this very moment, that makes him so reluctant to let Mike go and have a better (simpler) life with Sidwell?  
 _‘Damn, Harvey, you do know why. Admit it to yourself, maybe to Mike too, and just get it over with’_ says a voice his head, eerily sounding like Donna _‘You have known from the moment the kid sat at your table for the “interview”, haven’t you?’_  
Yes, that is quite accurate. Okay, actually really accurate if he starts thinking back to that day…

*****************************

Harvey has had enough of this recruitment crap, even though it has yet to begin.  
He can’t help it: he is not cut out for being someone’s mentor and he cannot see the point in training someone to steal his clients. Besides, charm isn't something that can be taught. Either you have it, or you don't.

Fortunately, Jessica did at least allow him to bring Donna along. Which means he doesn’t have to meet every single candidate, because one of her many talents is to spot potential from miles away. She might be even better than Harvey, though he would never admit it. Point is: she is hardly gonna send an innocent flower with no skills whatsoever to sit at his table. Only the very best will make it that far. Still, it is surprising that nobody has showed up. Either she is being extremely selective – he _does_ appreciate that – or NYC can no longer offer fresh meat. Perhaps, it’s a bit of both.   
Nearly half an hour goes by, before he decides that maybe it’s not just meant to be (he already knew that, but his boss simply refused to believe him) and that leaving now would probably be the best option. The moment he stands up, of course, a young man runs up to his table and sits down. He is easy on the eyes, if one is not put off by his childlike features. Surely he fits the ‘puppy I really want to train and look after’ category that their firm is in dire need of. Harold seemed a good candidate, sure, and Louis had been really proud of him underneath all that shouting and bullying but he just wasn’t cut out to be a proper pet. Training is destroying him, tearing away at his self-confidence little by little, and no one (but Louis, probably) would be surprised if he gives up in the next few weeks.  
If this kid does get the job, then maybe Harvey can… Well, let’s stop getting too ahead of ourselves now. Let’s see why Donna sent **him** in, first. 

“How bad you want this job, kid?” He asks straight away, because there’s no point in asking anything else.  
“Look.” Says the ‘kid’. “I don’t care about the job. I don’t even know what kind of work you’re talking about, honestly. I simply need a diversion and a good place to hide. Sitting at this table serves both purposes pretty well, and…”   
And every (adorable, really) claim of being though guy who doesn’t give a shit fails when he drops his suitcase, revealing its content: small packets of marijuana, at least a dozen of them. He goes pale, and gasps helplessly as the words he would need to make an excuse up fail him, but Harvey says nothing. He simply prompts him to pick them up and put them away.  
“Are you sure? Because in our line of work you would be paid much more than a smuggler.” Harvey himself doesn’t quite know why he’s still losing time with someone who is obviously here by mistake… Donna. Yeah, he trusts her too much to believe she would let the guy in without a very good reason too. That’s also the reason why he is the one doing the persuading, when it should be the other way around.   
The boy sure is intrigued by his nonchalance, and asks “ _Your_ line of work? And what’s that, exactly?”   
“We provide comfort and company to the loneliest souls out there, and our companionship is the best anyone could ask for. I can already here you thinking ‘hey, that’s call prostitution’ and maybe it is. Except nobody is expected to sell their bodies, if they don’t want to. Our clients buy our time, but it’s up to us to decide how we can make it pleasurable for both parties involved. They wouldn’t dare lay a finger on us, when they know we keep a file for each and every one of them. If they are not willing to play buy our own rules, well, they can go and look for what they need somewhere else.”   
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but what you’re saying actually is: ‘we sell ourselves but we don’t sell out: we come with terms and conditions and if you don’t like that, then… we don’t like _you_ ’, right?” It’s more like a statement than a question, but Harley nods and answers nonetheless.  
“Right. That’s exactly what I am saying. And I know your next question is going to be about how much I earn, so here’s what I make in a month, kid.” He writes down the exact amount of his latest paycheck. “One month, not one year.” He reminds him, as he unfolds the piece of paper Harvey has just given him.  
The guy – he should really ask for his name, but keep on calling him ‘boy’ or ‘kid’ until he can’t stand it anymore and will introduce himself is a much better option, isn’t it? – scoffs, not getting why he felt the need to clarify that. He will, once he discovers Harvey’s monthly salary.  
“What the f… That’s not possible.” He mutters, disbelieving.   
“It is.” Harvey insists. “You will see it for yourself, if you come and work for us.”  
“Where do I sign, then?” He asks, enthusiastically. Harvey has rarely seen someone making their mind up so quickly. Or so eager to whore themselves out. No, that’s not true. He has seen plenty, but no one ever looked like he has been offered the thing he wanted most, despite having realized he that he wanted it, like, a couple of seconds ago. That should be quite a massive warning of how desperate the young man is, but Harvey purposely ignores it.  
“That’s for me to know and for you to find out, boy. If, and that’s a pretty big if, you succeed in showing me why anybody should pay to spend time with you, then we can talk.” It’s good to finally turn the table, setting things right.  
“You want me to charm the suit out of you? I can definitely do that. My name is Mike, and not ‘kid’ or ‘boy’, by the way.”

And that he does. Michael James Ross, with his endless knowledge on pretty much anything that has been written and his naïveté on the actual real word out there. With his wit and sassiness, mixed with the right amount of puppyish eagerness and joyfulness. Harvey has still the upper hand, however, judging by Mike’s disappointed sigh when he tells him that he’s gotta go.  
“We’ll see each other soon enough, pup. Training starts tomorrow morning, 9AM sharp. Don’t come too early, and don’t bother showing up if you’re late. One more thing: is there anything I should know about you? Or do you want me to run a background check to find all of your poor hidden secrets?”  
“Well, actually, there’s a pretty big one…”

*******************************************

Mike has been a fast learner, a wonderful – though extremely frustrating – pupil and showed a penchant for being an awesome sub straight from the beginning. Shame he has always refused to be under any other masters who aren’t Harvey. Or not. It sure feels great to have something that Mike won’t allow anyone else to do, something that it’s _their_ and their alone. Even though it drives Jessica nuts. Well, perhaps that a bonus.  
Mike learned not to get too attached to lonely and desperate people, he soon understood that he couldn’t risk to be dragged down with them. Same went for unhealthy friendships, like the one he had with Trevor. Damn, Harvey rarely bothers enough about other people to feel anything other than disdain towards them but he fucking **hates** the guy.  
More than once he has almost tricked into giving up, with flattery and ridiculous promises, but nobody actually succeeded in stealing him away from Pearson-Specter. Aside from Jonathan Sidwell, with all his “my job blows yours out of the water”, that is. And it doesn’t make sense, because being an escort is so much better than being a porn star, unless you are in for the fame and recognition and Mike is a bit of an attention whore who’d love to be famous someday. That’s not why he is considering to take the job, though.  
He won’t lie about the perks of working with Sidwell, sure, but Harvey is aware that above all Mike just wants to stop being the variable that can destroy Pearson-Specter any day.  
Besides, if Sidwell is ever to find about Mike’s secret he is the kind of guy who might just **buy** the kid’s right to stay in the country. Not that Harvey wouldn’t, if an idiot named Mike Ross hadn’t stopped any attempts to commit an actual crime.

“Call her back” He says, as he hugs Harvey from behind and drops a kiss on his naked shoulder. “Tell her I’m not going to be a problem anymore.”  
“Mike…” Harvey retorts, trying to sound annoyed about being told what to do instead of distraught about Mike leaving, because he sure isn’t… He is not nearly half as successful at that as he’d wish to be, truth to be said.  
“Harvey, don’t make this any harder that it has to be. Or that it already is. There’s no other way out, no other option. So please, let me go.”  
Mike doesn't need his permission to leave the firm, but he knows that Harvey will not bend his rules once again for him. Dating a potential client is a line that Harvey is not willing to step over, not even for Mike.

Therefore, leaving Pearson-Specter means leaving Harvey too, but he wants this break up to be as amicable as possible. Then, maybe, they can still be friends in the future. Friends without any benefits. Yeah, right.  
“As you wish.” He says. Indulging his childlish wish isn't going to hurt anybody, after all.

It's never gonna happen, but Mike doesn't really need to know, does he?


End file.
